


Making Art

by jeni_andtheafterthought



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Depression, Drug Use, M/M, Slow Burn, alcohol use, ballet!au, nonmagical!au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-19 15:39:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9447995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeni_andtheafterthought/pseuds/jeni_andtheafterthought
Summary: Potter and Malfoy are as different as they can be.  Though their dance styles are polar opposites, their goals are the same.  Dance to make art.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> this is all the fault of parseltonquinq  
> [ This post started it. ](http://parseltonquinq.tumblr.com/post/153029661501/okay-hear-me-out-picture-sergei-as-harry-potter)

Harry shouldn't have read the critic's review of his performances. Many had not been reviews of his performance at all. Not a mention of the ballet nor even the name of the theater regularly made it's way into the garbage he read. The Bad Boy of Ballet it had said.

What the hell did they know? Until three months ago, Harry did nothing but live and breathe dance. Days passed without dance made his body ache to be in the studio. Almost two decades he spent forcing his body to do things it couldn't have done without the work he put himself through. From his first plié at the age of three to the calypso that just landed him on his arse, Harry gave everything. His age did not dictate how he approached his job. Harry was the youngest male principle dancer in the history of Hogwarts Ballet. His tattoos weren't a part of his movements. He didn't understand why they were mentioned so many times in the articles. The tattoos had been covered by costumes or makeup through the entire performance. The Bad Boy? If he had been given a name, why not live up to it? Apparently, he already looked the part.

Still sitting in the floor after failing to land a simple jump, his private lessons instructor, Snape, was screaming at him. Harry pulled himself to standing. He didn't bother to look at his instructor but instead to himself in the floor to ceiling mirrors that lined the wall. Harry knew he looked like shit. The slowly escalating cycle of cocaine and alcohol was tearing his body apart. Harry told himself the first time that it would be the only time. One of the dancers from the gala had given him the cocaine. Harry just wanted to feel something again, to go on stage and feel like he was making art. It had almost worked. Now, months later Harry just stared blankly at himself wondering why the hell he was here at all. Last night's performance was his worst in years. As high as he'd ever been on stage, the drugs had his heart pounding so fast and heavy that it hurt. He danced Romeo often enough he thought he could do it whatever the circumstances. Harry was wrong. Harry had dropped Luna. The sharp sound of her knee hitting the floor shook him even now.

"I may vomit," Snape said. Snape was no longer screaming at him, but it sounded worse. "If you're quite finished eye-fucking yourself, start over."

Harry sighed, "I wasn't...we've been at it for hours. If I could only rest for--"

"The rest of the company isn't resting! Luna isn't resting! Do you really think this kind of coddling is what the director had in mind when he sent you to me?" Snape's voice filled the room. "Your performance could have cost Luna much more than a visit to the physical therapist. You can't get by on your fame alone. You are arrogant. Lazy. You think you can just ride on your reputation without putting forth the slightest effort. It may have escaped your notice but fame isn't everything, Potter."

"Just. Just stop." Harry said weakly. He looked up again into his darkened face and hardly recognized himself. He knew what had to be done. Without taking his things with him, Harry went straight to Director Dumbledore's office.

 

\----------

 

Draco entered the studio before dawn. Ilvermorny Ballet Theater was his second home. He was dancing his first performance since returning from a three year run with Beauxbaton Opera Ballet. When he heard the company was performing The Nutcracker, he felt like it was the perfect return home.

Draco loved dance from such a young age, but it wasn't until he was thirteen that ballet held his interest. Before then it was Fred Astaire, Gene Kelly, tap and jazz and cinema. After seeing The Nutcracker on stage, Draco knew ballet was his medium. This was how he wanted to make art.

With such a late start, Draco had no choice but to set rigorous schedules and long days. Draco never thought of what he was giving up to become the dancer he was today. There was almost nothing that gave him the joy and freedom that rehearsals gave him. That was when he felt truly free. That was when he could experiment, when he could fail, when he could fall, when he would get back up and make himself into something new. The stage was simply the place to showcase the art that occurred on his road to perfection.

There was no obtaining perfection. Draco knew that. There was no way to have the perfect form or the perfect performance. When perfection was close, Draco could feel it. He felt it with his partner and with the audiences and through his body. That feeling had no description and it was what drove him. That constant reach for perfection is what motivated him to become the dancer he was. As a principle dancer of Ilvermorny Ballet Theater, Draco was happy.

Draco had a few advantages. He was the tall, slim blond. He was the picture of a dancer, really. His advantages were a two sided coin. Draco had to work harder to stand out. He wanted to dance everywhere. He wanted to travel the world with his dancing. This was harder to do when you looked like everyone else. Draco knew better than to ever voice this complaint. Hermione would have punched him in his eye.

Hermione was the least traditional ballerina he had ever worked with. She was remarkable in so many ways. Hermione also got a late start at the age of thirteen. She faced many more hurdles than Draco faced. Her work ethic rivaled his own and her stage presence demanded attention. Classical ballet was hardly devoid of competition, but he felt second only to her. Even after taking a year off following a fracture, she was still as powerful and inspiring as ever. She was recently named the first black principle dancer in the history of Ilvermorny Ballet Theater. While Draco and Hermione were not close outside the theater, here they were a force of nature.

In the early mornings, as part of his warm up, Draco often danced his more unusual choreography. Draco loved to experiment with contemporary dance. It allowed much more freedom of the body than ballet. Once Draco started dancing, he became the character. He danced with such strong emotion but only the character's emotion. Rarely did he dance his own emotions. Draco danced with such emphasis on technique and classical dancing. He loved the repertoire of IBT though he did feel he needed to keep dancing with other theaters and companies to keep learning. Draco felt immensely grateful to be able to work with Hermione as regularly as he did. He wanted to dance with the best. Draco dreamed of working with Oliver Wood, Pansy Parkinson, Ginny Weasley, and most especially Harry Potter.

Draco had never had the opportunity to see Potter dance, but Potter was the name of male dancers. He had the fame, the reputation, and though Draco would never admit to such vanity, Draco desperately wanted to impress the dancer everyone called the best in the world.

Draco stopped his dance short as someone crashed into the studio in a rush of noise and high heels. "Damn, Granger, you don't have to be here until 7. If you're trying to impress someone, I'm afraid you've wasted the effort. It's just me in here."

Hermione didn't go for the bait. "Draco Malfoy! I've been calling you!"

"I've been working," Draco said, slightly put off that she practically ignored him.

"I promise you'd want to know this as soon as I could tell you," she said, thrusting her phone in his face.

Draco took a few moments to process what he was seeing. The man in the photo didn't have the intense gaze he usually had in photos. His green eyes looked haunted, his posture...Potter looked awful.

Hermione let out a heavy sigh, "Harry Potter quit the Hogwarts Ballet. He quit dancing."


	2. Face to Face

Harry walked into a studio of the Khorosheva Ballet Theatre where Pansy Parkinson was dancing. She and Harry were among the last people in the building. Pansy was likely working with Daphne on choreography. The music, Harry noticed, was rock. Definitely working with Daphne then. Daphne coached competitive ballet in the US. She was known for her eclectic music choices.

Harry didn't have to wait long. It was late here and he had caught the end of the practice. Pansy noticed him around the time she ended the video call on her computer.

"Harry," she said, still catching her breath, "everything OK?"

"Yeah. Volbeat? Really?" Harry started. He was not looking forward to the coming conversation.

"Last minute change. Told Daphne Die Antwoord was too vulgar. Why are you here? It's, what, eleven now. First rehearsal starts in the morning."

"Pansy," he paused long enough to see the anger already creeping into Pansy's face, "I'm not going to take it."

"What the fuck do you mean you're not going to take it?! Do you have any idea the strings I had to pull to get you in here? After that shit you pulled a few months ago, no one wanted to touch you!" Pansy shoved a finger in his face, "You have some fucking nerve! This reflects badly on me. I told Gudkova we could count on you."

"I know, but..."

"BUT WHAT!? Harry Potter you were handed Count Albert on a silver platter and you know Oliver won't be back until after opening night. We can't just call him up and say 'sorry, but you can't get married right now, we need you to come back because Potter is a..."

"I KNOW! OK, I know," Harry screamed, finally getting a word in. "And I know there's hardly a chance of coming back from this. Everyone is just watching me, waiting for me to screw things up. It's all that stupid damned name. If I do well, it's because it's my job, but as soon as I make a mistake, there are always fingers pointing saying they knew this would happen because I'm a bad boy, rebel, whatever the hell else they've come up with."

Pansy stood frozen in place. She was still plainly furious, but now Harry saw under that. She was hurt.

"I just don't care about any of this. There's no joy in this for me anymore," Harry continued. "I've tried to push myself, to get a change of scenery, but it's not working. I just have no passion for it anymore. I haven't worked in three months. I only got back in a studio a week ago. Trying to push myself to an opening night in less than a month would be stupid."

Pansy turned her back to Harry for all the good it did. The mirrors on the wall didn't allow her any sense of privacy. "Please, you can't just stop. You were one of the greatest influences I had at Hogwarts Ballet. Can't you just give this a chance. Get through Giselle and see how you feel. This isn't Hogwarts, isn't London. Khorosheva will be different. You can get back to where you were and you will be fine."

Harry could not answer. There was very little drive behind any of it. Harry had always had people pushing him to become the best dancer he could be. He felt like that point had already been reached and was slowly being left behind.

Pansy sniffed. She shook her head before turning to look Harry in the face. "Look around. Take a real look around, sit in the middle of the room all night if that's what it takes to be sure. If you really want to leave this behind, I will not try to stop you. But don't expect me to come to your rescue later. This was that rescue." She tucked her jacket and computer under her arm and left Harry standing in the quiet studio.

 

\----------

 

Draco received three texts messages in as many seconds. Worried that he would be late or not be able to find the place, Draco gave himself plenty of extra time that morning. His footsteps and his phone were the only noises outside the Khorosheva Ballet Theater. He had accepted an invitation to work on Giselle as a guest dancer with the possibility of signing on as a full time member of the company. The decision had not been easy. Moscow wasn't exactly short trip from New York. Draco had hardly been back at Ilvermorny a month before the invitation. Two months after Director Gudkova contacted him, Draco accepted.

Once inside the building, Draco checked his messages. All of them were from Hermione.

_-What time is it?_

_-Who are you working with?_

_-You have to tell me how you are doing. We miss you already._

Draco grinned to himself and sent a quick reply.

_-before 6. have barely made it to the building. excited. will text later._

After a quick stop by the administrative office, Draco followed directions to the dressing rooms. He wished he was able to answer Hermione's second text. He was more than a little disappointed to hear that Oliver Wood was taking a leave of absence right around the time Draco would be starting. No official announcement was made about who was taking his place. Surely it was someone from within the company. It was highly unusual for the Khorosheva to have multiple guest dancers at once.

Draco didn't make it to the dressing areas. He noticed someone already dancing this early. It wouldn't have seemed strange to him if the lights were on. Draco tried to stay out of sight, more out of courtesy than anything else, and leaned toward the window and watched. Draco assumed the man was dancing without music until he saw the earbuds leading into a pocket, the cord swinging with each turn.

_Pockets? What, is...is he wearing jeans?_ Draco realized the man was nowhere near appropriately dressed. He was wearing only jeans, a belt, and glasses. How the man went from a moving pirouette to a 540 without slinging his glasses off his face was impressive on it's own if not a bit stupid. As luck would have it, the man spotted him and didn't look very happy about it.

As the man stomped toward the door, the dark of the room no longer hid the tattoos. Draco knew who this was. He was face to face with Harry Potter.

"What do you want?"

Draco smiled, "Nothing at all. I just wasn't aware Harry Potter was at the Khorosheva."

"And of course you know who I am. This is a private session. I don't work with fans," Harry said making eye contact only after he spoke.

Draco smiled wider. He took a second to notice Harry's red-rimmed eyes he would have attributed to lack of sleep if it weren't for the smell of vodka. Harry was covered in sweat, scars, and tattoos. Surprisingly, the one that Draco found most predominant was a scar that ran from his hair line to eyebrow. Draco would never admit it, but he wanted this chance. He wanted to dance with the best if only to prove he was just as good. "Oh, I'm not a fan."

Harry scoffed, "Then maybe you should try to look a bit less impressed."

"I'm also not impressed. I've been hearing how great you are, how skilled. Quite frankly, you're second high kick lacked follow through, your moving pirouette wobbled, and I'm pretty sure you were intending on two 540 jumps, but the second one ended up as just a sad barrel turn which was slightly under rotated," Draco continue as dismissively as he could manage. Draco wasn't usually a betting man, but he was betting heavily on the chance that Harry Potter was competitive as hell and used to having his arse kissed. If this sloppy mess in front of him was all that was left of Harry Potter's career, how could Draco possible use this momentum to prove himself to the company. How the hell could Draco use working with Harry Potter to his advantage?

For a second, Draco would swear Harry was trying not to smile. Whether that smile held amusement or malice, he'd never know.

_Please take the bait, please, please try to prove me wrong,_ Draco hoped.

"You want to come in and show me what I'm doing wrong then?" Harry asked.

_Oh, thank god. Maybe proving someone wrong will be enough to keep this drunken prat from making a mockery of this job_. Draco smiled, hoping it looked genuine. "I need to settle in. I do believe you could use a nap and a glass of water. If you're so keen on dancing with me, I'll be here for every scheduled practice at least," Draco offered a handshake. To be honest, he'd be surprised if Harry took his hand at all.

Harry's gaze moved from Draco's face and back to Draco's hand. He made no attempt to take it. Harry looked like everything Draco said had physically attacked him. Getting the exact reaction he expected, Draco turned and made his way to his original destination. If Draco glanced at the window at the end of the hall to see if Harry was still watching him walk away, he'd never admit it.

**Author's Note:**

> Some main characters are inspired by real dancers. While the parallels are obvious at times, they have been fictionalized to make room for Rowling's characters to shine through. If you need a head canon visual Harry Potter-Sergei Polunin; Draco Malfoy-David Hallberg; Hermione Granger-Misty Copeland.  
> The working outline predicts 5 chapters. This may change.
> 
> tags are incomplete and will be updated as chapters are added to reduce spoilers  
> My beta reader will be credited upon completion of the fic (or whenever she gets an ao3 account)  
> This fic will be gifted upon completion.


End file.
